


Running in Circles

by Spocksandshoes



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Flashbacks, Idiots in Love, Light BDSM, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Reunions, Riding, Rough Sex, Switches, dom/sub elements, falling back in love, light cum play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28619865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spocksandshoes/pseuds/Spocksandshoes
Summary: They've defeated the Classic team, and Medic and Heavy are in a peculiar position:What they had was good, but it ended with their contract, and now they're back in close quarters when neither of them expected to see the other again.And by god, Medic wants him as much as he did back then.
Relationships: Heavy/Medic (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 101





	Running in Circles

**1972**  
The blood in his mouth tasted wonderful.  
The burst of copper on his tongue had been the first sensation he had as life was forcibly shoved back into his cadaver after his dealings with the Classic Heavy and the devil.

It was.. Well. Sensational.

Ludwig lay in his bed many a night afterwards, running his tongue over his lips and teeth to chase the taste even though it was long gone. 

Idly, in the oft ignored sane part of his mind, he wondered if that’s what he was doing with Mikhael, chasing what had left on a train for Russia half a year ago.

He liked to think he was above that kind of thing, but the very fact that his final act before death had been to warn Mikhael at his own expense proved that wrong.

Some things couldn't help but to linger.

**1968**

The first time Ludwig had seen Mikhael on the first day of work with RED, he had wanted him. Everyone was mingling, getting used to both each other and the arid desert heat, sizing their teammates up and attempting to play nice. 

Ludwig had been talking to the Scottish man about his own personal theories on eye replacement, when the Russian had walked into the kitchen with the Engineer.  
Mikhael was tall, impossibly broad, with arms the thickness of thighs, and a barrel-chest that sort of extended into a barrel-stomach. It was the build of the sort of man that had fought bears in the snow all his adult life, a thick layer of fat over cords of well-honed muscle. His hair was short, thinning at the forehead, making the oval top of his head contrast with the square jaw it sported. He had rugged, honest features. He laughed, and it was deep and booming with an endearing snort at the end of it, and Ludwig was done. Game over. He wanted this giant.  
He had stared, watching the hang of Heavys arms, the way he walked, the way his trousers sat low on his hips, pushed down by the paunch of his belly. 

Ludwig was known for his impulses, his obsessions. His brilliant mind fractured and focused constantly , oscillating between laser focus and scatterbrained multitasking. He wanted or he didn’t, and the moment he saw Mikhael, he felt the beginnings of an obsession settle into his bones.

Gott im himmel, he wanted him so badly. Heaven knows how he finished the rest of his conversation normally.  
They had met later, properly, as Medic was setting up his personal little library.  
“Doktor.” The booming voice came as a giant hand was thrust in his direction. “Good to meet you. You keep us alive in battle, yes?”

“/I try, friend!/” Ludwig replied in his best Russian as they shook hands, and Mikhaels face split into an honest grin.  
/“You speak Russian? It’s so good to hear another voice speak in my mother tongue. Where did you learn? I wouldn't say there has been a lot of Germans in Russia, recently.”/  
In English, Mikhael spoke in a thick accent, with enough of a grasp on the language to get across what he wanted to say. In Russian? In Russian, his voice was poetry. He was deep-voiced and eloquent, his voice freely expressive in a way it wasn’t in English.  
It did things to Ludwig, to hear him speak.  
/”Some year inside a hospital of East Berlin.”/ He admitted. There had been a man he wanted to find there. There had been a man he wanted to treat there. There had been a Rottenburg native who was left without his skeleton there.

/"Your Russian is very good for someone who only learned a few years of it. I am impressed."/ Mikhael had said, even though Ludwig was so sure it was a lie.  
/"Ah, Thank."/ He said, and Mikhael laughed his booming laugh and slapped him on the back in a gesture that would have sent a lesser man into the far wall.  
/"I'll leave you to set up. We should talk literature later, if you have a love for it."/ 

He was loud and cheerful and expressive, and Ludwig was so sure none of it was real.  
He saw it on the battlefield, the bloodthirst in Mikhaels eyes. He saw the quiet way he'd draw into himself when he thought nobody was looking. He sang old russian love songs quietly to himself, read the classics and poetry and told the others it was books on war. 

He saw it in the haunted look in Mikhaels eyes when he'd arrive in the medics lab in the early hours of the morning, under the guise of reading or wanting to watch Ludwigs experiments. Only to sit in silence with a hundred-yard stare. If he fell asleep, he'd jerk awake too sharply. 

Mikhael, the real Mikhael, was a pragmatist. Full of anger that had been tempered by time and duty. He was loyal to a fault, serving something he saw as more important than himself.  
There was a soft heart that beat under all that adrenaline and bloodlust, and Ludwig would be lying if he didn't say that he wanted it all. 

He wanted to cut him open, taste his mouth and come and blood and compartmentalize the memories in his head. He wanted to push his hands under Mikhaels skin, feel the beating of his heart in his palms, wanted to break him apart and build him back better.  
Oh, Mikhael was so close to a god. Ludwig could make this a reality. 

_**1972** _

There was a lull in things to do now, and the days settled into quiet after the mess with the Classic Team was all over. The team waited for their next assignment, too wary of the outside world to truly split apart again. 

In the meantime, they fell back into old habits. Annoying each other. Tinkering with explosives or machines. Smoking. Drinking. Soldier had introduced his new girlfriend to professional wrestling, and she was in love. The sounds of people being suplexed often echoed through the base. 

In the meanwhile, Medic got a lab set up, checked his team to see how they were doing - the brain in Demo’s leg was as it turned out, a very jealous brain, and was kicking his other leg at every available opportunity.  
That had to be sorted. He’d thrown himself into his work, and maybe a part of that was avoidance. 

Mikhael and himself hadn’t really talked since everyone was reunited, not since Mikhael had seen him die, revive and birth a baboon child from a dying mans body cavity.  
The first time they really got to talk at all was during the team medicals and that had been.. Subpar. 

Heavys’ appointment was straightforward. Read from this chart, turn and cough, report on the status of the ubercharged heart in his chest.. Normal things.  
He arrived on time, freshly shaven, in his civvies. 

“Ah, Mikhael. Right on time!” 

Mikhael went for a handshake, Ludwig went to clap him on the arm. There was a moment of awkwardness, and Ludwig laughed and motioned him towards the table. The tips of his fingers ached, so close to Mikahels skin and yet nothing. Not even a touch.  
They hadn’t talked properly since the island, he noted, and the careful way Heavy carried himself would suggest he was thinking about the same thing. The legs of the examination table creaked gently as Heavy hauled his bulk unto the surface, and after they made eye-contact and nothing was said, Ludwig just forged ahead with gritted teeth. Maybe if he shouldered through the awkwardness it would stop being awkward. 

Cholesterol was a little high. Heart beat, reflexes and breathing all normal.  
He pressed the stethoscope against Heavys’ chest and the steady beating took him back for a second.  
He was in a bed in the RED base. Heavy snored gently beside him, his large arms up and secured over his head. A black cloth was tied around his eyes, and yet he slept like he was in the most comfortable he had ever been. He had been begging earlier, pushing up into Ludwigs’ hands, proud head bowed between his shoulders as the riding crop had bit into his flesh.  
Now it was quiet, and Mikhael slept, vulnerable and safe. Ludwig scooted down to press his head against Mikhaels massive chest. It was a wonderful sound, vibrating through his skull and soothing his restless nights. The sound of Mikhael being alive. 

“Something wrong?”  
Back in the lab, in the present, Mikhael was starting at him, a worried brow raised.  
“Hm? Ah, not at all! I was counting beats to determine regularity.” Ludwig said briskly turned back to his papers to make a mark, feeling Mikhaels eyes on the back of his neck.  
He cleared his throat, clicking his pen top and wished for a pregnancy inductor, just for the sheer distraction of it. 

“Sleep Schedule?”  
“Regular.”  
“Diet?”  
“Usual.”  
“Any other-”  
“No.” 

Medic gave him a look over the sheaf of papers, and Mikhael sighed, inclining his head for the doctor to continue his checklist. “Any other unusual aches or pains? Scars aching in zhe cold, for example?”  
“No.”  
“Alright- on to zhe next section-” Ludwig flipped the page after making a note. “Sexual health. Prostate is normal and no other prevalent issues..Are you sexually active? I can test for STD’s.” He went back to his papers, only to look back up at the dead silence that answered him. Heavy was staring at him with a pained look on his face.  
“Oh, really.” Medic scoffed, jerking down his glasses with a fingertip to stare over them, as judgmentally as possible. “I’m your doctor.” 

“Was living in Siberia with family. Who would I be fucking, bears?” 

That got him. Medic chortled, relieved. “Should I put zhat as your answer?” 

“No.” Heavy ground out, clearly awkward, but Medic wasn’t to let that stop him. “Very well, now about self-checks for testicular cancer-” 

Medic checked his blood pressure, checked for signs of stress or shellshock, gave him a healthy dose of the medigun just to be sure.  
By the time Heavy left, Medic felt like he’d seen an average patient.  
It worried him. 

“No, it vas definitely necessary to ask him about sexual activity.” He said to Achemedies, who was preening his own feathers atop the Medics chair back.  
“It was important to know as a doctor. It’s on zhe checklist, see?”  
The bird ignored him.  
“I am not at all feeding my own jealous streak by reassuring myself of anything.” He told Archimedies and was again, ignored. Archimedes had more important things to worry about. 

Most nights, including that one, Ludwig found himself staring at the ceiling of his room, the fussy little baboon infant sleeping on his chest.  
This was what he had wanted. THEY had wanted. They had went their separate ways. And now they were back in close quarters like nothing had happened. It was fine. They had left it all behind them. It was fine. 

It was FINE. 

The infant stretched his little feet out and let out a sleepy sound, and the medic couldn't help but give it a fond glance. Some day, he might harvest its organs for parts, but… well.  
He was not immune to the odd paternal feeling, he supposed. 

In the kitchen, he boiled the kettle to warm a bottle as the little one snoozed on his shoulder, and he tried to keep his thoughts orderly.  
But Mikhael was under his skin, the sight of him, the smell of him enough to cause him to want. The way he wanted when they first met, wild and greedy and fascinated.  
Nothing had felt like the first cut of his scalpel into Mikhaels chest, the shivers of excitement he felt as he dove into the musculature and circulatory systems of this powerful giant of a man, who lay willing on the table as Ludwig worked.  
He felt like a god then, as he worked on Mikhael, shaping him into a weapon. Mikheal watched him work, and they laughed and joked through their sessions, and he felt drunk off of knowing the other man was seeing him work. Seeing him. 

_**1969** _

He got his hands on Mikhael first in surgery, and then for real, one drunk day on the weekend.  
/“No, it’s definitely a metaphor.”/ Mikhael was slurring in Russian, far past the point of caring what came out of his mouth. Medic swayed beside him, just as drunk, if not more.  
/“The imagery of the moth is typical for the author-''/ 

What were they talking about? Ludwig was busy watching the way Mikhael gestured. He’d skinned those hands, took them apart and learned how they worked. He’d fixed the chipped knuckle bone on Mikhaels left hand. He’d felt how soft those large hands were after buffing Sasha with wax. It wasn’t enough. He wanted them on him, skin to skin, and he wanted it so much it took his breath away.  
/“-In an editorial in 1934 he said it was a callback to the use of a moth to indicate death or decay- Doctor?”/ Mikhael stopped in his enthusiastic speel, pausing as he saw how the Medic was staring at him- and it was staring, face flushed, eyes hungry.  
/“Are you----”/ 

That was all he managed before Medic kissed him.  
He felt the sharp intake of breath as Heavy reacted, those two big hands planting against his chest and shoving. He reeled, too drunk to balance, comically pinwheeling back and slamming against the brick wall, the impact driving the air from his lungs. 

Mikhael was staring at him, fingers touching his own lips like he was trying to parse what had happened. He was glaring in a half-assed, uncertain sort of way.  
Ludwig got it, he did. He laughed, meeting Mikhaels gaze and giving him a cheerful shrug as if to say ‘Well?’ 

A heavy moment of silence, and then Mikhael was crossing over to him and yanking him forward, and they were drunkenly kissing while his heart beat a tattoo into his ribcage. 

_**1972** _

The kettle whistled, and he shook the memories off, but they followed, long after he fed and tucked the baboon into its own bed. The want remained, writhing in his veins. 

The next morning, they met again. Pauling had called them to discuss their next move. The Administrator was making a last stand, as far as he cared to understand it  
He didn’t listen much in the meeting, brooding in his own self-centred Miasma. He could feel Heavys’ eyes on him through the meeting, searching. But when he went to return the gaze, Mikhaels eyes would dart elsewhere. 

“It’s unlike you to not have an opinion.” Pauling turned to him, and he had to scramble, clearing his throat and smiling broadly at the young woman. “Ja, well perhaps a bout with death has given me some tolerance for other.. less correct viewpoints!"  
Pauling shrugged, unable to bother with the insult, and turned back to Spy and Engie, the only two people worth asking in the room. Or at least the only two paying attention. 

“Well, it zhat is all, I have work to be done. Ms. Pauling, I am, as ever, at your beck and call.” He shifted the papoose strapped to his chest, where the baboon was curled up, and strode from the room. He passed Heavy, and their eyes met for a second.  
He jerked his head towards the door and after a beat, Heavy nodded and followed.  
They ended up standing opposite each other in those god-awful painted corridors, bland and echoing, but Ludwig supposed it was a good analogy for them.  
They mirrored each other as they stood, slow breathing, waiting for the other to talk. 

It would almost be easier, Ludwig thought in something near hysteria, if he just pushed Heavy down on his knees. It would be SOMETHING between them, and Heavy would look up at him with his steely eyes and surrender control. He would offer up his strength and dignity and Ludwig would keep them safe in his heart til they were done, like he had in their surgeries. Like he had in their bed. 

But they were wishes. And reality was a lot more complicated.  
“How was Russia?”  
“Cold.” A pause. “Good to be back with family.”  
Ludwig nodded, trying to keep his mind from spiraling. Small-talk. Of all things. They shouldn’t be so casual with each other. “I see zhat Zhanna has-”  
Heavy grunted, looking pained. “Long story.”  
“Ach, I wont ask then.” Ludwig was rewarded by the slight twitch in Heavys mouth that indicated he was gonna smile. “Ah, zhis is ridiculous.” He reached for him, and for a second Heavy made the move to reach back, their hands raising to touch, but the door bursting open at the end of the hallway and the rest of their team filing out made him pull back, and the moment was lost under their chatter. 

Untouched, his hands ached. 

“Tomorrow at 6. A beer?” He tried, suppressing the urge to go after the other mercs with his bonesaw just to get some fucking time alone, and Mikhael nodded. 

Conversation over, they both turned to leave, and their eyes lingered for a second to long before they parted. It felt maddening.  
It was something. 

**1969**

/"I wanted to be a professor, did you know? A big mahogany desk and all the rare books I could afford, more than my father could have ever dreamed in his lifetime. Instead, I become the man of the house, I protect my mother, my sisters. I kill and I kill and then I like it. Then I’m good at it. All of these things I am happy to do, but yet… it is not where my heart was first. Does that make sense?”/ 

Medic nodded, glasses crooked on his face, but it didn't matter, everything was out of focus anyways. They had been drunk again, leaning against each other as they sat on the roof of the base. Medic’s hand was on Heavys thigh, Heavys arm was around his shoulders. The sound of a party carried out from downstairs. The sound of Engie’s guitar was barely heard over the shouted chorus of the song. 

Ludwig considered him. “Zhen where was your heart before all zhis?” He slurred, too drunk to attempt Russian.  
/“I don’t remember. Maybe I never knew. Somewhere where everything was not so hard to carry.”/ 

The body beside him sighed, and Medic leaned into it, buzzing on dutch courage.  
“I could carry zhat for you for a while, if you’d like.” He said, and Mikhael had been about to shake his head when he caught the tone of voice, and his head slowly turned to drunkenly regard the Medic.  
“I don’t think-”  
“Do you trust me?”  
“Da.” It was said so honestly, so earnestly, that Medic felt himself get giddy.  
“Zhen let me show you what I mean.” 

Two days later, Mikhael was standing in the middle of the Medics quarters, fingers flexing restlessly as Ludwig went through the rules.  
“Safeword.” He prompted, and Mikhael took a moment to think. “Dillon." 

Ludwig nodded, made a note, and finally stood, beckoning Mikhael over to him. He kissed him, feeling the uncertainty in Heavys' stance slowly bleed out as they stood and kissed, mouth against familiar mouth.  
“This is simple. You are here with me. That is all you need to be.” He said, and Mikhael nodded, eyes closed.  
“Good.” Ludwig stepped back, his hands keeping their contact with Mikhaels arms, grounding him. “Now, you can kiss, but you cannot touch.” 

He loved the crease in Mikhaels brow as his hands stayed by his sides, unmoving, sometimes hovering near Ludwigs back til he remembered. It was awkward, but Ludwig made up for it by moving them to let Heavy sit on his bed.  
He sat on his lap, kissing still as his hands roamed freely.  
“What is point of not touching.” Mikhael had ground out, and Ludwig had grinned at him.  
“The point is to not think, the point is to obey. Now..” 

He ran a hand down Mikhaels chest, satisfied at how the man leaned into his touch.  
“You need to not think. I will take control for now. It is always there for you to take back. You said you trusted me?”  
Again, a nod. “Always.” 

He smiled. “Then lie back.” 

15 minutes later and Mikhael was gasping, feet braced flat on the bed, pushing his hips up desperately as Ludwig rode him, sinking down unto his cock with a low groan.  
The Russians’ hands were pressed hard against the headboard, fighting to keep them there. “Please.” He grunted, sweat beading across his forehead, his voice desperate.  
“Not yet.” Ludwig sighed, settling down so he was perfectly full, stuffed to the brim with Mikhaels cock. He rocked his hips lazily, enjoying the stretch, the way he felt so utterly full. He clenched around Mikhael, just to hear him groan.  
“I will give you permission when you earn it.”

Mikhael’s eyes were closed, muscles taut, but he obeyed, staying still as Ludwig took his pleasure, riding him slow and steady. He let it go on for another minute or so, then took pity. “Mikhael.”  
The man under him opened his eyes, and Ludwig had to try not to grin at the dazed look in them. “You did well. Come get your reward.” 

Mikhaels hands gripped his hips hard, pulling him down unto his cock with a force that made them both groan. They found each other again, riding it out hard and merciless on each other as Mikhael fucked him, soon coming in him with a breathless grunt.  
They lay against each other afterwards, lazy and content.  
“We should do again.” Mikhael rumbled, and Ludwig made an amused sound, too lazy to reply properly. 

They did do it again, and they worked slowly. First it was kneeling. Then simple commands. Rewards. He found that he loved the look on Mikhaels face when he finally was given what he wanted. If Mikhael wanted something, he earned it.  
If he didn’t know what he wanted, then Ludwig did. And it was beautiful, taking him apart like that, seeing all of him laid out in his hands. 

It made him feel powerful. 

He couldn't contain his glee, his pride at the sight of Misha, all 7 foot of him, leaning his head on his thigh, eyes closed in contentment. He stroked over the thinning hairs on Heavys scalp, down his back, and idly thought how he never believed in love, not really. But he was only too eager to believe in Mikhael. 

_**1969- A few Months Later** _

“You can only come once when you say my name.” Ludwig had told Heavy, his clean boot pressed into the kneeling man's crotch, and Heavy had groaned, rutting up at the only good friction he had had for hours.  
Ludwig kept his foot still, letting Heavy debase himself. 

“Don’t know your real name.” Mikhael had grunted, an edge of desperation in his voice, and Ludwig and laughed softly, taking Heavy’s head and guiding it back to stare up at him.  
“That’s because you haven’t earned it yet.” 

The look in Mikhaels eyes of desperation mixed with sheer arousal was enough to bring Ludwig off many times in the months to follow. 

_**1972** _

The place for their drinks was some old dive bar a half-hour drive from the team. Ludwig arrived early, edging around beer-sticky patches on the floor to sit at the cleanest table. He ordered- Beer for him, a good whiskey for Mikhael.  
Slow, giddy uncertainty was scrambling his thoughts, so he stared at his pint, made cheerful conversation with the barkeep, enough to make the bartender leave him alone for the rest of the evening, and waited. 

Ten minutes later, at 6 on the dot the bar door opened and the conversation quieted for a moment in the way it always did when a man as big as Heavy entered the room. There was a few quick stamps, heavy boots habitually shaking off nonexistent snow, and something about it tugged at his heartstrings. 

He glanced up, half-raising a hand to gesture to Mikhael where he was- not that a big German man was easy to ignore in a small room- but Mikhael was moving towards him already, settling across from him at the little table. Their knees were cramped under the table, jammed against the others legs, but they were used to it from years of the same. 

“Ah, glad you could make it!"  
Ludwig pushed the glass across the table. “Whiskey. Not GOOD Whiskey, but zhe best they had. These back-water brewers wouldn’t know an oak-cask if it bit zhem in the rear.”  
His mouth was smiling, and a knot of tensions loosened in his chest as Mikheal’s expressions softened. It wasn’t quite a chuckle, but he supposed he hadn’t been that funny.  
“You remembered.” Mikhael held the glass in a hand, raising it to his face and inhaling slowly, savoring it like he would with a good glass of wine. 

“Ah but of course!” Ludwig glanced down at his own drink, a beer that barely clung to the definition of ‘beer’ and instead resembled some angry apple juice that someone had pissed vinegar into.  
“How could I forget?" 

Unspeaking, Mikhael raised his glass just a little, and Ludwig followed his lead, toasting silently to each other.  
So close. And yet Ludwig found himself missing the man who was just inches away, the man whos knee rested between both of his, as if it belonged there. 

The beer was cheap and the music was loud. They talked about Heavys sisters, his mother. About how Yana and Bronislava were enjoying New York and Paris. His mother was visiting some relatives in Boston, cousins who had left their homeland before Mikhael was even born.  
They talked about the baboon, about how if Mikheal was ever at deaths door and the only way to save him was another horrific baboon strategy, that he was to just let him die. They laughed over that one. And at Ludwigs new ideas, and they talked about Sasha and literature and old funny moments from the teams time together. Surface things. Both circling the drain, afraid to take the plunge. 

It was good to get drunk. Ludwig found his foot bouncing idly as he talked, grazing Mikhaels calf continuously as it moved, and he would have had to be blind not to see the way Mikhael swallowed.  
"I missed you." The big man said, and Ludwig smiled at him, burying all his responses down and taking another drink.  
"I thought you said you'd forget me, hm?" 

Mikhael looked away, fingers tightening on his empty glass. 

Their hands brushed once, reaching for the tab, and the spell was broken. The want was in all of him now, clogging his veins and choking his breath and it would not quiet, would not wait any longer.  
Ludwig moved, his hand covering Mikheals’ and squeezing. Slowly, Mikhaels warm hand turned and grasped his in return.  
Maybe people saw, maybe they didn’t. Who was going to tell them to leave? The shorter of the two of them was still broader and taller than anyone else in the piece of shit bar.  
Ludwig didn't know how long they sat there for, hand in hand, gazing at each other. But oh, it was so good. 

_**19671** _

“I am going back home.” Mikhael had said to him the day after the team had split. 

They had gotten too deep and they both knew it, standing dumbly and staring at each other over the bed in between them. The want that was supposed to have been sated by now had only grown stronger and it made itself known in the anger that curled in Ludwigs gut. They had lived as lovers, acted as lovers, how did he not expect that this would hurt to leave behind?  
Stupid. Careless. 

“Not tonight.” He told the man, forcing himself back into control of his own emotions. He would not beg. And Mikhael would not stay even if he did. “Tonight, you are still mine.” 

“Da.” Heavys’ voice was thick with emotion, and Medic knew. Knew that Heavy would be just as lost without Ludwig as Ludwig would be without him.  
“Then we forget, yes?” 

“If you want to.” Ludwig had looked him over. “I think I shall be keeping my memories.”  
Mikhael had gotten on the train the next day, and their arrangement had ended. Their bruises and bitemarks faded back to nothing. Ludwig settled into his experiments til the money had run out, then the Classic Team had offered a job.. 

But now… 

Now, in **1972** , he was paying the tab and they were leaning on each other as they left the bar and Mikhaels hand was still in his.  
The cold air outside did nothing to sober him up, instead making him feel overheated. His glasses were slightly fogged up. Mikhael was laughing, a proper roar of a laugh that settled in Ludwigs bones and warmed them as they stumbled to his truck. 

The music from the bar was loud, still thumping under his skin.  
They’d danced to this before, drunk and in their best clothes and pressing their foreheads together in the Heavys’ quarters, a million years ago. 

Heavys’ mouth was against his, maybe in the memory, maybe in real life, maybe in both, but Medic kissed him back, put his arms around him, kissed him again for good measure, suddenly desperate in case the memory melted away.  
“God forgive me, is hard to think around you.” Mikhael had said in his memory, tracing his chapped lips over the doctors bare collarbone before he kissed him properly, and Ludwig had laughed giddly, mad and full of blasphemy and want.  
“God? What is god to men like us? We don’t need his forgiveness.” 

A long time ago, when nothing could have separated them. It felt strange to be on the other side of the chasm, a life both of them had left behind.  
A quiet sound brought him back to the present. Mikhaels mouth was against his, his arms around the Russian in the darkness of the parking lot. He smelled like the same cologne he’d worn for years. He tasted like shitty whiskey.  
Mikhael murmured his name against his lips, and Ludwig was kissing him again, pretending there was an apology big enough for what they could do to each other. 

"Stay the night." One of them said, and the other sighed a 'yes.' 

Ludwig could never remember which one of them it was. Once the awkward spell was broken, they fell together like puzzle pieces.  
Things got blurry from there. He remembered them falling into Heavys room… then.. They made out for a bit, sloppy drunk, half of the time missing each other's mouths before passing out on each other, dicks in hand and completely forgotten about. 

The morning came too quick, finding them on either side of a bed neither of them clearly remembered driving home to.  
Ludwig woke early, as he always did, lying still and watching Heavy sleep. The mattress felt like miles between them, and he found himself hesitating to move closer. 

Mikhaels eyes opened, and they watched each other in silence. Misha moved first, extending a hand to rest between them, and Ludwig joined their hands.  
"I never thought I would be back." Mikhael said. 

"And yet here you are! I am not complaining." 

His jovial tone did nothing to move Heavys expression.  
"Were you angry when I left?"  
"I wanted to kill you."  
He saw Mikhael take that information, shrug, accept it, and move past it in seconds. "Because I hurt you." 

They stared at each other, the silence ringing between them.  
He had been in love with Mikhael. So, so in love. Maybe it was mad love, or obsessive, unorthodox love, what could he say? That if he hunted and killed Mikhael he could have resurrected him as a Mikhael that would stay. A Mikhael he didn't have to share.  
That his own obsession and the near-limitless bounds of how he felt dwarved reason and thought and it scared him into fury, that one man could so easily shake him to his core.  
And it hurt more than he had words to describe it. Misha was right.  
"Yes." He answered, truly honest for the first time in half a lifetime.  
“I was always in charge, with us. I liked it, but then you left and I couldn't control how-- I wasn’t ready for how it..ah.. felt. I do not think I would ever be ready.” 

Something twitched in Mikhaels jaw. Still waters ran deep, and the deepest depths of them were boiling.  
"I broke us. I don't know how to fix. I leave for good and then I come back and you are here and I--" He took a deep breath, large hands flexed and released helplessly.  
/"Before we were never meant to last. But now I want us to. If you’ll have me, Ludwig."/  
A spark of hope ignited in Ludwigs chest, fierce and impulsive and maybe stupid. And in typical Ludwig fashion, he threw himself into it headlong. 

Ludwigs hands framed Mishas large jaw, and drew him into a kiss. Familiar and lazy and hungover, maybe. But good. Thick arms encircled him, and they tangled together.  
/"I saw the Heavy kill you."/ Mikhael was saying in Russian, in that deep, eloquent voice that made Ludwigs head spin. /"And all I could think was Mikhael, you had this man in your hands once and all you ever did was waste it."/  
Ludwig kissed him again, gleefully.  
Their previous relationship was built on control. Mikhaels need to give it up. Ludwigs need to keep it. But there was no doubt in Mikhaels voice when he told his Doktor that that had to change. It was not the same any more, and that was okay. It was better. 

And Ludwig would agree to anything if it was said in Mikhaels voice, if he wouldn't stop touching him and kissing him til the world narrowed down to the two of them. Til the roar of bloodthirst and his obsessive natures and all his madness quieted over the sound of his heart in his ears, the slow exhaled of Mikhaels breath, the want howled in his veins to be closer, no even closer, til nothing could tell either of them apart.  
“I don’t know how to not be in control.” He admitted, murmured into Mikhaels skin like a private confession, and Mikhael clutched him against his chest and didn't love him any less for it.  
“We shall try together.” 

They were moving against each other before either really noticed, panting into each other's mouths as they thrust raggedly into the tight space between them.  
When was the last time they had done this that wasn't power play? 

A thick, hairy thigh braced against his chest, hooked over his shoulder, and he could feel the muscles spasm and tense as he fucked the Heavy hard. Mikhaels broad features were lightly flushed, a sheen of sweat over them as his big hands fisted in the sheets.  
He was loose, the kind of loose that meant he'd fucked himself on his fingers in the last few hours, and it gave Ludwig a vicious thrill to think that Milhael had prepped himself before the bar, hoping for this. 

It had been a while, and when he felt the telltale signs that he was going to come, he went to pull out, needing a moment to compose himself, but big hands grabbed his hips. "Dont you dare." Mikhael growled, and Ludwig tried his hardest not to find that as attractive as it was.  
"I'm going to-"  
"Then do it. In me." Mikhael tugged him forward, and Ludwig was only too happy to obey. He resumed his pace, pounding into the Russian giant til he groaned and filled him, riding out the climax with lazy rolls of his hips against Mikhaels ass. 

Just as they sat in silence, him catching his breath, he found himself shoved back and flipped, hitting the mattress with a loud creak of bedsprings, and Mikhael was looming over him, grinning. His still hard cock was grinding insistently against the crease of Ludwigs ass, and the Medic, sated to contentment, was all too happy to let him.  
"Forget something?" He could feel the grin as Mikhaels mouth brushed his ear, and he grinned in return, pushing his ass back, offering himself for Mikhael to use.  
"Never." 

The mental image of his come running down Mikhaels thighs even as he fucked Ludwig was incredible. 

Usually they were careful with prep, but this was sloppy and fast, having Ludwig sink his teeth into a knuckle to muffle the sounds he made as Mikhaels fingers enthusiastically fucked him open.  
And then he was on his hands and knees, Head hung low between his broad shoulders as he took every inch of Heavys cock, slow thrust after maddening thrust until he was so full his nerves felt raw.  
Hands had his hips. Wide, warm hips pressed against the curve of his ass, and he was lost.  
Moments later, when a hand fisted in his hair and he found his face joyously shoved into the sheets as Mikhael started to fuck him in earnest, he wondered how he managed for half a year without this. 

When Mikhael came, he pulled out enough to pump stripes of come across Medics wrecked hole, a thumb swiping through the mess and smearing it across his sore rim.  
The low, pleased sound Heavy made would have been enough to have Medic ready to go again, if he was a younger man. 

They showered, made the bed. Tried to have a serious talk about them and ended up in bed again. 

They had a late breakfast. Medic went to feed his baboon. They met back up in the afternoon, sat and stared at each other, like rubbing a tongue over the space of a missing tooth.  
Ludwigs hands were rough from his work in the last six months, but Mikhael held them like they were the hands of a man, not a monster. 

This was not a space he had to be in control in. It could be…. Something. Something good. 

Some things it took time to get used to. 

_\--------------_

But when the call came, they suited up together. Mikhael helped lace up Ludwigs’ boots because his stupid medigun brace made it hard to bend that far. Ludwig ran checks on Mikhaels bandolier, checking for damaged or dud rounds.  
They were meeting with the Engineer, following Miss Paulings coordinates, but none of that mattered to either of them. Well, maybe it mattered to Mikhael, but it certainly didn’t matter to Ludwig. 

What DID matter was that his baboon was in safe hands while they left, what did matter was that this was something he was used to, a fight with the mercs around him. What did matter was that Mikhael was with him. 

“Kiss for good luck?” Mikhael murmured to him as they all suited up, and without breaking eye-contact, he leaned down to press his lips to Sasha’s barrel.  
Mikhaels mouth split into a wide grin, and as his hand curled around Ludwigs suspenders and pulled him up into a proper kiss, Medic found himself grinning too.  
The pre-battle tension hummed around the room, people shifting impatiently, joking, anything to settle their nerves.  
But here he could kiss Mikhael, think of all the things they'd do to each other when they completed the job and were rich and alone together.  
Here Mikhael could kiss him back, and he could allow himself to want as much as he did, knowing that this gentle bear of a man wanted him just as much. 

It was different. 

And oh, it was good. 

**Author's Note:**

> Good Formatting? Who's she?
> 
> PS. There was a whole chunk in here about the 'souls' thing that I had to cut bc it.. didn't really fit with the flow of the story.
> 
> But TLDR: Heavy knows about the soul thing, and always has.


End file.
